


Power Hungry

by AmberBrown



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Revenge, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24182998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberBrown/pseuds/AmberBrown
Summary: A Comte, who has delusions of grandeur, needs to be dealt with. The King sends his Musketeers to arrest him. What should be a simple mission gets complicated when the Comte makes the first move.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally uploaded to Fan Fiction. Net in 2017. It started out as a one shot called Rings that I followed up with Power Hungry which expanded on Rings. I have amalgamated the two, tidied it up a bit and added a few bits here and there.  
> I will post the chapters over the next few days.  
> I hope you enjoy it.

‘Please… I didn’t know… it… it was only just over the border…’

‘You were on my land, my property, you are ungrateful, I am your Lord.’

‘Please, sir, we won’t stray onto your property again.’

‘Please… let us go.’

The Comte looked at the two young men before him, he nodded to the big man holding the taller one. The man grinned and hauled the young man round and started moving his struggling captive forward.

The other one, the younger brother, was being held by another of the Comte’s men. The young man, not much more than a boy, realised what was happening. He started screaming and shouting at the Comte, begging the nobleman to release them. The Comte did not react, he watched, impassively, as the older brother was forced towards his doom. The young man fought for all he was worth. But he was a peasant. He was scrawny and weak. They both were. He could not fight back against the Comte’s man.

‘Jean…’ screamed the younger one, tears streaming down his face.

The Comte wondered if the boy thought he might be next. Was his fear for his brother or himself?

The older one was still struggling, he was grabbing at the face of Gagnet, who shrugged off the pathetic attempt to escape his iron grip. There would be no chance of escape, Jean’s fate was sealed. The Comte watched, without any thought for the pain, he would be causing to the family who would soon be short a son.

They had strayed onto his land; they knew the rules. The tenants were strictly forbidden from entering his private estate. Now one of the two had to be punished. He would allow the younger one, Luc, to go. If the family lost two sons, they might not be able to work their small farm and raise money for their rent. That would be counterproductive. But killing one of them sent a message to all his tenants. He was not a landowner to be disobeyed.

‘No… please…’

Gagnet had manoeuvred the young man to the edge of the slope now, a quick firm shove and the man slipped over. The Comte took a couple of steps forward. He watched as the man flailed around then lost his footing. He grabbed at the sloping sides but could not find a purchase, he slid down inexorably towards the gaping maw at the bottom of the sloping. The man screamed the whole way down scrabbling to stop his descent but to no avail. His legs slipped through, then his body, disappearing from sight. The Comte imagined young Jean falling for a second, perhaps he was still reaching out for something to grab hold of. Did he know there would be nothing? With a satisfying thud, the young man hit the floor of the cell below, the cell which would be his tomb.

No one had ever escaped the Comte’s oubliette. He reserved it as a special punishment for people who particularly annoyed him. He enjoyed the build-up, watching the realisation on the face of the victim. All the tenants knew of its existence. The only downfall was that once the man was in the oubliette there was nothing else the Comte could do to them. The Comte cared little if the man had survived the fall. He would die, that was the outcome. The impact on young Luc, that was the real punishment. Perhaps Jean had got off easily?

There were other punishments that he preferred when he wanted to be entertained. But this one, this sent out the message that he wanted. The younger brother would go back to his family and the other tenants and they would all know that he, Comte Vietto, was not a man to be challenged. His word was final.

He was the man at the top.

And he wanted more.

MMMM

‘He should rest, but you may speak to him for a little while your Majesty,’ said Lemay as he gathered his things together.

With a reverent bow, the doctor retreated from the lavish guest room.

The King approached the bed quickly, Treville was surprised by his obvious concern for the man who lay on it. At his approached, the man tried to sit up in deference to his King.

‘No Alain, you are too badly injured, there is nobody here to see etiquette ignored.’

Once Treville realised who the injured man was his surprise diminished.

‘I am sorry,’ the pale man on the bed said.

‘Do not be,’ said the King who had perched himself on the edge of the bed and taken the man’s hand in his own.

Baron Doubey was the same age as the King, they had frequently spent time together in their childhood. Doubey was a good man, Treville had once seen him help an old peasant who had fallen in the street. He was kind-hearted and pleasant to everyone he met. Although he had quite a different personality to the King the two had become firm friends.

The King turned to Treville and beckoned him over. Perhaps now he would find out why he had been summoned to the Palace with no explanation. He approached the bed and stopped a respectable few paces away. Close enough for a spoken conversation but not so close as to be disrespectful to the monarch.

‘This is Captain Treville, you probably remember him, he is the captain of my Musketeers. I trust him with my life. He is going to sort this out,’ the King turned to Treville, ‘Alain was attacked, it is disgusting. He was attacked by a neighbouring Comte.’

Treville was beginning to understand where the meeting was going and what part he was to play in it. The King continued.

‘Alain was telling me that, this Comte… Vietto,’ he looked to Doubey who nodded, ‘has been hiring thugs, he appears to be building a small army of mercenaries. It is clear this man wants more power than he has a right to.’

The young Baron looked to Treville, ‘he is ruthless monsieur, I have seen what he has done to his tenants. He took out the eye of a pretty young girl because she happened to see him when he was assaulting one of his servants… he shot a poor farmers horse because it did not move out of his way quickly enough…’

‘How did you come to be attacked?’ asked Treville taking another couple of steps forward.

The Baron was very pale, his left arm had been placed in a sling and his face was covered with bruises. Treville had been told by the doctor when he arrived, that the man had been beaten with sticks. He had broken ribs and a badly broken arm that would probably never heal properly.

‘I wanted to put a stop to what he was doing. I decided to report his wickedness to the King. But I thought it only right that I told Vietto what I was going to do… I hoped it might curb his ill will towards his tenants…’ he trailed off for a few seconds, fatigue beginning to catch up with him, ‘he had two of his men beat me. I honestly thought they were going to kill me… my manservant managed to get me away, we arrived at the palace a few hours ago.’

‘And now you will rest. I will see to it that this is sorted out,’ said the King firmly as he gently let go of the Baron’s hands.

Treville had rarely seen such tenderness from the monarch.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Treville, ‘I will prepare my men and we will leave at first light.’

The King nodded his approval saying, ‘thank you Treville, I can trust you to sort this out. I want this Comte arrested and returned to Paris. I want him to be punished correctly. It will send a message to any other lower nobles who think that they are above the law.’

Treville was impressed with the Kings maturity, it was clear he wanted the issues dealt with and dealt with swiftly. Treville bowed and left the room. He returned to the garrison as quickly as he could.

MMMM

Treville had given instructions that they were to leave at first light. The Musketeers were well trained and had no difficulty preparing themselves. Athos oversaw the organisation. Some men had added responsibilities, Athos watched as Aramis and Barbotin disappeared into the infirmary to pack medical supplies. D’Artagnan, who had a natural affinity with the horses was working with the stable boys, checking the tack and chivvying them along when the young lads began to flag.

Porthos had been sent out to round up any of the men who were not in the garrison. Athos knew Porthos could be persuasive and would bring back any wayward men who thought that being off duty meant they could not be recalled if necessary.

Once the preparations were done, they gathered together. Treville stood on the steps to address them. He explained the situation, and what they were to do. The men listened attentively, Athos glanced around and noted that all the men were present. He nodded to Porthos who smirked, Athos knew his friend had enjoyed collecting the missing men.

One thing worried Athos as he looked at the assembled men. Some had only received their commissions mere weeks before. The arrest of the Comte and any fighting that went with it would be their first proper taste of action. There had been training missions and the odd minor skirmish in the markets to deal with, but nothing compared to what they might have to deal with when they reached Vietto’s land. 

Treville concluded his instructions, ‘we have a few hours before dawn, get some rest, we have a full day’s ride ahead of us.’

As the men dispersed Athos approached Treville who held up his hand before Athos could speak, ‘I know what you are going to say, some of the men are very fresh-faced… but this is what the King wants and this is what we will do. They have their commissions and we would not have allowed them to become Musketeers if we didn’t think them capable.’

Athos nodded, ‘I am sure they will be fine, but I think we should try to keep the newly commissioned men under careful supervision.’

Treville nodded, ‘I will make a Captain of you yet.’

MMMM

Thirty mounted Musketeers leaving the garrison at dawn caused a bit of a stir amongst the early rising Parisians. They moved out of the way quickly staring at the men as they rode passed. D’Artagnan always felt a swell of pride when they were revered by the people of Paris. He could not help smiling as they rode out of the city.

‘You do know we’re going out to fight a bunch of mercenaries. It’s not a parade,’ said Porthos as they left the city and the attention of the locals.

‘Yes, but it makes a change not to be looked at with suspicion or fear.’

‘Good point,’ conceded his friend.

They rode on for several hours. Only stopping when the horses needed to be rested. Each man leading his horse up to a shallow stream to allow the beast to drink its fill. As the horses cooled the men ate a simple meal. Each of the musketeers had been provided with provisions for the journey.

Once they reached a site to camp later that afternoon, they would be able to enjoy a cooked meal. Although, as Aramis had pointed out, they would only enjoy the meal if the men preparing it knew what they were doing. It was well known amongst the men that some of their number were not as good at preparing food as others. Porthos had chuckled, knowing Aramis meant him and a couple of the others. One of the newly commissioned Musketeers had looked at Aramis, his expression one of confusion. Aramis had told him quietly that they were fairly sure it was a deliberate act to get out of preparing food. The new Musketeer had looked shocked. Porthos had laughed out loud.

The banter and joviality of the ride hid the undercurrent of tension amongst the group. The newly commissioned men were apprehensive. They were trying not to show it but the longer serving Musketeers could see it. Several of the older men made a point of talking to the younger recruits, reminding them that they were ready for whatever was to happen.

D’Artagnan noticed Athos and Treville talking at the edge of the group, they had finished eating and were getting ready to continue. Athos walked over to him.

‘We think it will be quite late when we arrive, we will need to set up camp quickly,’ Athos said, ‘can you see to the horses for the group, pick another couple of men to help you… ones that can deal with them quickly and calmly. There will be a lot of activity getting this many men settled and the more organised we are before we arrive the better.’

D’Artagnan nodded, glancing around the other men as he worked out which would be the best to take on the task. When they resumed their journey, he approached one of the men, who like him, was used to dealing with livestock. The young man had lived on a smallholding for some time but been forced to leave after a bad harvest meant the owner could no longer pay him. Pierre was a competent young Musketeer who thoroughly deserved the shiny pauldron he wore proudly on his shoulder.

‘Pierre,’ d’Artagnan said getting the young man’s attention, ‘will you help with the horses when we make camp.’

Pierre nodded; he was trying to hide the fear but was clearly apprehensive. D’Artagnan smiled to himself remembering the mixture of pride and fear he had dealt with after he had been commissioned and went on his first mission as a Musketeer and not a cadet. It had felt like a sudden weight of responsibility, but it was a weight he was pleased to bear.

‘You’ll be fine. There are lots of us here. Just remember your training and follow orders,’ said d’Artagnan, who thought it odd that he was giving advice to a man who was probably only a few months younger than himself.

Pierre nodded and smiled, some relief showing on his face.

They rode through Baron Doubey’s estate and found a suitable spot to camp on the border between the Baron and Comte’s land. The Baron’s manservant had spoken to Treville and described the clearing. The Baron had offered his own chateau but Treville did not want to bring any more trouble to the Baron’s lands. The clearing was wooded, and therefore secluded. It was big enough to build a fire and enough space between the nearby trees for the Musketeers to set out their bedrolls and another couple of smaller fires. Some areas of the surrounding woodland were thick, with bushes and trees growing closely together. They were sheltered from casual observation, although none of them believed for a moment that Vietto would not know they were there.

D’Artagnan watched as Athos approached Aramis and Porthos, he spoke to them for a few minutes. Porthos made a few dramatic gestures and Aramis laughed at him. They gathered their weapons and wandered off out of the camp. Athos watching them go as d’Artagnan walked up to him.

‘What was that about?’

‘I just sent them off on the first watch for sentry duty. Porthos was pretending it was unfair… although I think he was just pleased he was not being steered towards the campfire and the cooking.’

D’Artagnan laughed, ‘who has the second watch? I’m happy to do it.’

‘Barbotin volunteered with Hamon… although, again, I think it was to get out of the cooking.’

MMMM

They walked away from the camp amiably. It was a cool evening, not cold, but cool enough that they were glad to be active. It was also pleasant to stretch their legs after a long day in the saddle. As seasoned soldiers, they were used to the activity that went on and the apprehension the younger men would be feeling. Porthos was glad to be away from all the organised chaos for a few hours. They would patrol for four or five hours before heading back in to awaken Barbotin and Hamon.

As they left the noise of the camp behind they found a pathway, probably created by locals, that roughly skirted the camp, it made sense to follow it around, rather than having to pick their way through the undergrowth of the thicker parts of the wood.

They chatted idly about various things, talking about the new Musketeers and which ones they thought would embrace the mission and which might find it overwhelming. It was always a tense moment watching a newly commissioned man go into battle for the first time.

Aramis was a few paces ahead of Porthos when he tripped over. Under normal circumstances, Porthos would have laughed at his friend’s clumsiness after checking he was alright. Aramis had fallen hard and remained on the ground apparently stunned.

Just as Porthos stepped forward to help Aramis up he was grabbed by two men, one on either side of him. They were big, strong, men. One of them was taller than Porthos, the other was as broad as a tree and despite his best efforts, he could not shake them off. He was about to shout for help, but a third man pushed a rag into his mouth. Porthos struggled against the men. The two either side of him each placed a meaty hand on his head holding him still as the third man tied a rag to keep the gag in place, muffling any noise he tried to make.

He managed to look down at Aramis and was shocked to see his friend still flat on the ground with two more big men holding him there, one was kneeling across his back. Porthos knew that Aramis would be struggling to breathe with the weight on him. His friend was trying to move but his attempts were ineffectual.

The man who had gagged Porthos was now behind him and dragging his arms back with the help of the big thugs holding him and efficiently restraining him. The rope used was tied firmly. His weapons belt was unbuckled and removed. Porthos continued to pull against his captors and shout through the gag as the assault continued.

A stout, older, man stepped into Porthos’ view he pressed a small gun into his cheek causing Porthos to pause his struggle.

The stout man said quietly, ‘I want your comrade to deliver a message to your Captain… he does not have to be alive to do so. If you do not stop your pathetic struggle, I will kill him… painfully… I can kill him in such a way that it will take him hours to die. Do you understand me?’

Porthos remained still, he stared at the man who smirked. The man turned to the men holding Aramis and nodded. With renewed force, they grabbed the now weakly struggling man’s arms and pulled them back, binding them in much the same way as Porthos’ had been. They also put ropes around Aramis’ knees and ankles. His weapons belt was undone and forcefully pulled away from him. He was pulled over onto his side. Porthos watched as Aramis tried to take the first full breath that he had been allowed since he was first grabbed, only to be gagged as he opened his mouth. The men then dragged Aramis a couple of yards towards the exposed roots of a big tree. They tied him to it firmly and left him lying on his side still struggling for breath.

When the men stepped away from Aramis and he was able to look around and saw Porthos he started pulling at his restraints and trying to shout through the gag. The man who had spoken to Porthos crouched down next to Aramis and said something to him. Porthos did not know what was said but Aramis became quiet. The man tucked a sealed letter into Aramis’ doublet. As this was being done the man who had gagged and restrained Porthos was hanging both of their weapons belts up on a tree branch near where Aramis lay.

Porthos was pulled around and forced to walk away, he managed to glance behind and saw Aramis watching him, his shoulders still heaving as he tried to get his breath back.


	2. Chapter 2

Treville had not slept well, he had not expected to. He had to plan what they were going to do. How they were going to deal with the nobleman who clearly had ideas above his station. The King had related to Treville all that Baron Doubey had told him. There was talk of a dungeon and the Comte was said to use an oubliette to kill anyone that he particularly disliked. The King was insistent that the Comte be arrested and brought to justice. The King had intimated that he would use his power as monarch to strip the nobleman of his title so that he could be tried as a commoner. Treville had to admit he thought the King was making a good decision based on what he knew about the Comte.

But first, they had to arrest Comte Vietto. From what they had learned from Doubey there were at least forty mercenaries in the employ of Vietto. Thirty musketeers would be an easy match for these men, Treville was sure. What they needed first was intelligence about the Comte’s estate. For that, he planned a covert visit to the tenants. They needed to talk to the local people, the people who were being so badly mistreated by their landlord.

As he sat musing Athos approached him with d’Artagnan and Barbotin. They all looked concerned.

‘Neither Porthos nor Aramis returned from sentry duty,’ said Athos, the simple statement gaining Treville’s full attention.

The Captain was on his feet in a second and looking around the camp. He knew Athos and the others would have done a cursory search, but he could not help looking for the missing men. His mind was already whirling ahead, he was trying not to think of the possibilities.

‘We’ll search for them, quietly, I do not want to cause alarm or unnecessary worry… there could be a simple explanation,’ said Treville to himself as much as to his soldiers.

They moved off, subtly, into the woods to search for the missing men. 

MMMM

Athos and Treville followed the route they expected Aramis and Porthos to have taken the previous night. A circular loop around the camp about one hundred yards away. D’Artagnan and Barbotin were working their way around in the other direction.

They had casually walked away, not drawing attention to themselves. The Captain had been right, it would not have done for the other men to know that people were missing. Some of the younger, newly commissioned Musketeers might have worried unnecessarily. There was already a sense of tension in the group that did not need to be added to.

Athos hoped that nothing had happened to Aramis and Porthos, but he was not overly optimistic. They were close enough to the Comte’s chateau that the reason for their friends’ disappearance was probably related to the vile man. Treville had told him everything he knew about the Comte. Athos had never met him and already he despised him. The manner that Vietto was treating his tenants was appalling.

They had nearly covered half the distance when something caught his eye, ‘look,’ he said, indicating to Treville what he had seen.

Something had glinted in the distance. Athos could not make out what it was, but whatever it was it seemed out of place. Treville shielded his eyes from the dappled sunlight that penetrated through the trees.

‘It looks like their weapons, hanging on a branch…’

Treville trailed off, looking hard, he gasped, then rushed forward. Athos followed trying to work out what Treville had seen. He only had to move a few paces to see Aramis lying on his side by the trunk of the tree. He was firmly bound and gagged.

Treville reached the bound man who was struggling against his bindings and trying to speak through the gag. Treville pulled the gag from Aramis’ mouth. The restrained man tried to speak again but just ended up coughing. Athos pulled out a knife and started to work on releasing his friend.

Aramis managed to swallow and then said croakily, ‘they took him… it was the Comte.’

The sound of men running towards them had all three Musketeers look up as d’Artagnan and Barbotin joined them. Treville indicated to Barbotin to hand over his water skin. As Athos was still cutting Aramis free, Treville held the skin to the captive man’s lips and helped him to take a couple of sips.

‘There were too many of them,’ Aramis said, when he had finished drinking, ‘we were totally taken by surprise…’ he looked over to his right, ‘I think they put a rope over there to trip whoever walked passed… I fell, and they grabbed us… I’m sorry…’

Athos had freed his friend’s arms and helped him to straighten up a bit, then cut the remaining ropes around his legs. Aramis was clearly stiff from being forced to stay in the same position for several hours in the cold. He was shivering a little, Athos was unsure if he was cold or suffering from the effects of his misadventure.

Aramis was trying to reach for something in his doublet but could not get his hands to coordinate. He looked up at Treville, ‘there’s a letter, from the Comte, for you.’

Treville pulled the letter from Aramis’ doublet, he stood up and walked a few paces away to an area of the forest where the sun had penetrated the trees to read it. Athos held out the water skin to his friend again. With shaking hands Aramis took the skin, Athos resorted to keeping hold of the skin as well in case the recently liberated man dropped it.

Aramis stared off into the distance for a few moments before speaking again, ‘he told me to be quiet or they would kill him… he said if I was quiet until they were gone they wouldn’t kill him,’ Aramis paused looking at Athos and d’Artagnan before continuing, ‘but he couldn’t guarantee what state Porthos would be in when we found him.’

Athos glanced at d’Artagnan who looked as worried as Athos felt. Their friend had been taken by a sadistic, power-hungry, man who had already performed several vicious, and vindictive acts on his own tenants. What the Comte had said to Aramis made Athos’ blood run cold.

‘There’s nothing you could’ve done,’ said d’Artagnan, reaching out to touch Aramis on the shoulder, ‘don’t blame yourself.’

‘I’m not, it’s just…’ Aramis sighed, ‘I’m really worried.’

Athos sympathised with his friend; Aramis had been left uncomfortably restrained for several hours with the knowledge that one of his best friends had been forcefully taken by Comte Vietto.

Treville walked back to the little group surrounding Aramis. He handed the letter to Athos who read it. The others watching his face as he did so. When he had finished, he looked at Treville confused.

‘Is the man deranged? Does he actually think we will not be able to arrest him?’

Treville shook his head, he took the letter from Athos and re-read it.

‘What does it say?’ asked d’Artagnan.

‘The Comte seems to think that what he is doing - how he is treating his tenants and anyone who comes near him - is perfectly fine. And that he has every right to do so,’ replied Athos. ‘He has essentially invited us to try and take him out. He wants us to attack so that he can show the rest of France what a superior tactician he is.’

‘If he didn’t have Porthos I would suggest an all-out assault on his chateau,’ said Treville who glanced down at Aramis as he spoke, ‘but we will have to include a rescue with our arrest strategy.’

The plan had originally been for the Musketeers to meet Vietto in the hope that he would surrender himself, but it was obvious that the man wanted a confrontation.

Aramis was about to speak but Treville continued, ‘yes Aramis, you will be the one allowed to go and get our man back. He may have been injured and you will be best qualified to deal with that. Barbotin is a capable field medic so he can keep an eye on the rest of the troops.’

Aramis looked grateful and nodded his thanks to both Treville and Barbotin. Athos noticed that Aramis was still shaking.

‘Let’s get back to the camp… I think you could do with some time by the fire,’ said Athos.

He held out his hand to his friend who reached up and grabbed it, allowing himself to be helped up. Once upright the colour drained from Aramis’ face and he nearly crashed back down again. Athos grabbed him by the arm, with d’Artagnan grabbing his other arm a second later.

‘Sorry,’ said Aramis blinking.

‘You were stuck there for several hours,’ stated d’Artagnan.

Aramis managed a smile. After they were sure he was not going to topple over they let him go, although Athos remained close by as they walked back toward the camp.

MMMM

It did not take long for the rest of the Musketeers to realise they were missing a comrade. Porthos was a popular member of the troop and when the other soldiers saw Athos, d’Artagnan and a slightly dishevelled Aramis walk back into the camp without their usual fourth member there were murmurs of concern. Treville had shooed away those that got too close. He knew that Aramis was tired and cold and needed a bit of space to himself.

Aramis was grateful to his captain. Lying out in the open all night had left him chilled. He had thought about protesting when Athos had suggested that he should sit by the fire for a while, but he did feel cold and stiff. The position he had been left in was not comfortable, but he had been more concerned about Porthos than himself. As the night had worn on, he had lost the feeling in his right arm from lying on it and he could not move enough to get rid of the pins and needles he had felt creeping up.

Barbotin had given him a blanket when he had settled down by one of the fires in the camp. Aramis had taken it and reluctantly wrapped it around his shoulders. D’Artagnan appeared a few minutes later with some broth. He sat next to Aramis.

‘Are you here to ensure I look after myself?’

‘You know us so well… and we know you well,’ replied d’Artagnan bumping shoulders with his friend.

‘Thank you,’ said Aramis as he sipped at the broth, he could feel its heat starting to warm him up.

‘What was the Comte like?’

‘I didn’t actually see him for long, I was face down on the ground for most of the time. To be honest I was initially more concerned with trying to breathe… one of the men was leaning over me heavily… I couldn’t make out what was going on until they dragged me over to the tree and he spoke to me...’

D’Artagnan said firmly, ‘from what you have told us, there was nothing you could have done… I guess the way you were treated says something about the Comte. He seems to have no regard for anyone.’

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Aramis finished the broth. He watched the activity in the camp. The men were working quietly. Some were being given direction by Treville and being sent off somewhere, others were tending to the horses. A couple of the better cooks were already preparing the next meal. The work was normal for the soldiers, they were calmly preparing for whatever would be thrown at them. Even the new Musketeers were doing as they should be, following the example of the longer serving men. But Aramis knew they were all worried about the inevitable fight they were going to be involved in and knowing that one of their comrades had been taken captive would have been at the forefront of a lot of their minds.

‘Treville wants a few of us to visit the locals and get information about the Comte,’ d’Artagnan paused when Aramis looked at him. ‘No, you are not coming, Athos told me that if you try to come with us, he will have you restrained.’

Aramis replied, ‘I suppose he’s right. I’m worried about Porthos, but I’m also very tired… and if we are to get him back, we need to be prepared and I need to be rested.’

As d’Artagnan stood to go he said, ‘Porthos will be fine, I’m sure. We’ll get him back. He just needs to hold on for a little bit.’

Aramis hoped that d’Artagnan was right.

MMMM

_The previous evening… ___

__Porthos was roughly forced forward, the big men holding him not allowing him to look back at Aramis anymore. He knew his friend would be alright. It would be an uncomfortable night for Aramis, but he would be found. The others would know something had happened when they did not return from their patrol._ _

__He wondered what the Comte had said to Aramis to make him stop struggling against the ropes binding him._ _

__The men marching him away did not speak. The Comte walked ahead leading them across a field towards the imposing chateau. They walked through the large front door entering what would have been an elegant hall. The elegance had been ruined by the men lounging around. Several unruly looking men littered the hallway. As he was forced passed an open door Porthos had a chance to glance inside. More men were within the room, the mercenaries were all big strong men. They looked capable and would be able to hold their own in a fight. Porthos wondered how many men there were._ _

__‘Take him down, and get him ready, I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ the Comte had spoken for the first time since Porthos had been taken by the men._ _

__As the Comte walked up a large staircase in the centre of the hall Porthos found himself being moved towards a door. He was bundled through and forced to walk down a flight of stairs. The elegance of the hallway did not reach beyond the door. The walls were rough stone, the steps uneven. At the base of the stairs, a man was standing by another doorway. This door was reinforced. It looked solid. The man produced a key from a ring hooked on his belt and unlocked the door. He pulled it open and stood back to allow the kidnappers to move their prisoner through._ _

__Porthos had not been cooperating with the men holding him. They were having to virtually drag him. Once they had been far enough away from Aramis, Porthos had struggled against the men, but it only earned him a thump from the broad man. He had changed his tactic after that and simply stopped walking._ _

__They entered what was clearly a dungeon. Barred cells lined the corridor. The men forced Porthos passed them all, towards the last door which stood open. He was bundled inside. The cell was lit by two flaming torches set in sconces on the wall either side of the heavy door. In the flickering light, Porthos saw a large table in the middle of the room. He did not have a chance to look around further as he was pushed forward and pinned to the opposite wall. He was surprised when the men cut the ropes from his wrists._ _

__His initial thought was to fight the men when his arms were freed. He was not given the chance. Four men pulled him towards the table pushing him onto it. He was forced to lie on the table on his back, he tried pulling away from the men, but they held him down firmly. The man who had gagged him earlier was still there. He stood at the end of the table sneering at Porthos. The man was quite weedy compared to the big men holding him down, but he seemed to be in charge, at least whilst the Comte was not there. The big men were following their orders, although Porthos got the impression they were enjoying the power they had over their captive._ _

__Porthos could not help renewing his attempts to fight the men holding him when the small weedy man produced a knife and began slicing the leather of his doublet._ _

__MMMM_ _

___Now… ____ _

____The man stopped his oxen, his foot still resting on the plough, as Athos walked up to him. As with the other tenants that he had spoken with the man viewed Athos with suspicion. Once it became clear to the tenant that he was a Musketeer and not one of Vietto’s men the farmer was more than happy to speak to him._ _ _ _

____‘We would all be grateful to be rid of him,’ said the man._ _ _ _

____He was a little older than Athos but very thin, almost malnourished. Athos wondered how the man managed to work the fields._ _ _ _

____‘Can you tell me anything about his chateau? Any information would be useful for us.’_ _ _ _

____‘One of the men who was taken there, he died a few weeks ago, he was beaten badly, he told us about the dungeon.’_ _ _ _

____Athos urged the man to continue with a nod._ _ _ _

____‘He said that when he was taken down there a man was guarding the door, he opened it with a key he had on him. They put him in a cell and left him for a couple of days then returned and beat him. He was in a bad way when they let him go. He said the dungeon had a second door, one that led straight outside, the door only opened from the inside, the guard had taken great delight in opening it. He said that when he had been left for the two days, they propped the outside door open… it was during the winter… I don’t know how he lasted for the two days, let alone survived the beating he received long enough to get back to his family.’_ _ _ _

____Athos sighed; the Comte was an evil man. He hated to think of what Porthos was going through. With luck, they would not do anything to him, just use him as a hostage, but Athos did not think his friend would be that lucky._ _ _ _

____‘When are you going to arrest him?’ asked the farmer._ _ _ _

____‘Soon,’ replied Athos._ _ _ _

____‘I wish you good luck, I hope you have plenty of men. I’ve heard people say he has sixty. And they are all fierce. I’ve only seen a few but they scare me. My wife won’t go near them.’_ _ _ _

____Athos thanked the man and walked away. They had originally thought they were dealing with forty men, but he had heard from the assorted peasants he had spoken to numbers ranging from fifty to eighty. Treville would not be pleased with the news._ _ _ _

____MMMM_ _ _ _

____The Comte entered Porthos’ cell and nodded to the weedy looking man._ _ _ _

____‘Did he fight Andre?’_ _ _ _

____The weedy man responded, ‘he did at first, but I think he knows now that there is no point.’_ _ _ _

____Andre sneered down at Porthos, who stared back as defiantly as he could. He did not feel particularly defiant. He was being held down firmly by the four mercenaries, he was naked, and he had no idea what the Comte was going to do to him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest._ _ _ _

____When Andre had pulled his boots off and proceeded to slice off all his clothes Porthos had tried pulling away and shouting through the gag. His struggles had meant Andre had been unable to prevent the sharp knife scratching across his skin in a few places, but Porthos knew the cuts were superficial, a couple of them stung a little but they were the least of the Musketeers worries. The men holding him down had laughed and leaned harder on his arms and legs. He was helpless. And he hated it._ _ _ _

____The Comte had returned divested of his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves._ _ _ _

____‘Now, Andre, where shall we begin? The ankles I think.’_ _ _ _

____Porthos could not see what the Comte and his weedy friend were doing, he could not lift his head far enough. He felt a hand press on his ankle then a pain that felt like the skin on his ankle was being ripped off. He screamed. He could not help it. He tried to pull his leg away, but the thug holding him merely pushed down harder to keep him in place. His breathing quickened. The tugging at the skin on his ankle stopped, but the ache remained._ _ _ _

____When the same pain happened, but slightly further up his leg, he cried out again, the noise muffled by the gag. He realised he had tears running from his eyes. The pain was excruciating. But he still did not know what the Comte was doing to him._ _ _ _

____The man was looking at him, studying his prisoner, he nodded approvingly._ _ _ _

____‘Oh yes, I am going to enjoy this very much. Andre, another ring please,’ said the Comte holding out his hand._ _ _ _

____Andre passed something to the Comte who held it up briefly. Porthos got a glimpse of it before it disappeared from his sight. It looked like a metal ring._ _ _ _

____The same tearing sensation again, slightly further up his leg._ _ _ _

____Porthos screwed his eyes shut, he wished he would pass out. He realised his torture was going to take some time, Vietto was going to draw out the pain he inflicted for as long as he could. The Comte clearly wanted to inflict a lot of pain on him._ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

As D’Artagnan approached the farm cottage he could see a middle-aged woman scattering seeds about, a small brood of chickens surrounded her. A couple of cats were watching from a windowsill with interest. The woman looked up as d’Artagnan greeted her.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘please do not be alarmed, I am not one of Vietto’s men. I am a Musketeer.’

He discreetly lifted the plain cloak he was wearing to show her his uniform. She did not look convinced and backed away a few paces.

‘We’ve paid the rent sir,’ she said, fear evident in her voice.

D’Artagnan put his arms out to the sides to try to convince the woman that he was not a threat.

‘It’s alright Marie. He’s telling the truth. I’ve seen them camped in the woods.’

A man, who d’Artagnan guessed was the woman’s husband, walked over from the direction of the Musketeer’s camp. He had the same fatigued look that his wife carried.

‘Perhaps you would like to come in, we can talk in private. I would imagine you don’t want your presence to be noticed if possible?’

‘Thank you, monsieur, unfortunately, our presence has already been noticed by the Comte, but, if we can prevent any further exposure, I would appreciate it.’

The man led him into the small farmhouse. He indicated for d’Artagnan to sit at the table. The room was small but well-appointed. The family had obviously worked hard to make the place pleasant. As he sat, he looked across to the small hearth which contained a blazing fire. Next to the fire in the only cushioned chair in the room sat a young man, barely more than a boy. He was gazing into the fire. He had not reacted when d’Artagnan had entered the room. The young man had a pained, faraway, look in his eyes.

‘Our son, Luc,’ said the man, ‘he was a victim of Vietto.’

D’Artagnan looked at the man, ‘in what way? Any information that you can give us about the man could be vital.’

Marie had entered after her husband, she bustled around arranging drinks for the two men sat at the table. Once she had seen to them, she knelt by the unresponsive youth and looked up at him with sorrow on her face.

‘Paul,’ she said softly to her husband, ‘tell him everything. If it helps them to rid us of that man it can only be a good thing.’

D’Artagnan could hear the anger in her voice despite her attempts to hide it as she sat with Luc. D’Artagnan turned to Paul and indicated for him to speak.

‘The boys, our two sons, Luc,’ he glanced over at the boy by the fire, ‘and… Jean, were out hunting for rabbits. We live quite close to Vietto’s private estate. The tenants are not allowed on his land. But the border is not easily discernible. The boys strayed over the border.’

The man paused, he took a drink, his hands were shaking. After taking a couple of breaths, he continued.

‘We only know what happened from Luc, he told us when he came back. He has not spoken since… They were caught by Vietto’s men. They were taken to the chateau. Vietto accused them of stealing, poaching on his private estate. Of course, it was an accident, the boys going onto his land. But Vietto would not believe them… he wanted to make an example… he told them that they had to be punished…’

Marie sobbed quietly by the fire, gently holding her son’s hands in hers, her head bowed. Paul looked over at them sadly, tears in his eyes. D’Artagnan guessed what had happened, he hated having to ask but they needed all the information they could gather.

‘Please tell me everything.’

Paul looked back at d’Artagnan and nodded, ‘Jean was thrown into the oubliette…’

Paul had spoken quietly, he was staring at his cup, twisting it slightly in his hands. The room was silent for a few seconds. D’Artagnan had expected something horrible but to hear that a young man had been so callously killed for something that was clearly unintentional was awful.

Marie cried again, covering her mouth with her hand. Paul rose from the table and walked around to her. He knelt by her and embraced her. Once she had composed herself, she broke away from her husband and turned to d’Artagnan.

She said quietly, ‘Luc and Jean are good boys, sir, Jean would do anything for his brother… Luc told us how Jean was pushed into the… the…’ she paused, trying to regain her composure, ‘oubliette, he tried to stop falling in, he tried to keep out of the cell… there’s no way out of the cell… our boy… he…’

She buried her face in her hands again. Paul looked over to d’Artagnan.

‘Vietto has been evil since the moment he inherited the estate… his father was a good man, but he is not.’

Marie looked up again, she looked at d’Artagnan, a fresh determination in her eyes.

‘Luc said that the… the oubliette… was in a room near the kitchens. He said they were taken through the kitchens to get there…’ she paused then said, ‘please get that man to stop. He has brought nothing but pain and misery to us.’

‘We will madam,’ said d’Artagnan.

MMMM

It felt as though he had been lying on the table for hours. The process of piercing his skin with the metal rings had continued. Porthos had worked out that the rings were not closed loops, he had caught glimpses of another couple of the rings as the Comte had paused whilst working out where to place them. Vietto was piercing just below the surface of his skin and sliding the metal rings through before pushing the point back out of his skin. It felt a little like getting stitches except the needle was being left in his flesh each time.

It must have taken some time as the four men who were holding him down were all relieved, one at a time by another mercenary. Although, Porthos did not think he could have fought off any of them anyway. They probably did not even need to hold him down any longer.

He was not sure if he had passed out at all, but he was definitely awake for most of his torture. The Comte had not stopped, he did not take a break. He was methodically inserting each ring then moving on to the next. Occasionally he would pause and look at him as if to appraise his work.

The rings had been put on the sides of both his legs and his arms, carrying around to his shoulders. The Comte had pierced the skin on both sides of his torso, over his hips and up to his ribs. Porthos was in immense pain, but he could not fight it. He had just come to accept it. He felt a little pathetic for submitting to the squat Comte.

‘That will do I think,’ said the Comte stepping back, he glanced over to the wall, ‘did you find the pincers? I don’t want the chains slipping off. If this works, I may do it again. It is quite satisfying.’

Porthos did not want to think about what the Comte was saying. But his mind whirled none the less. He wondered what Vietto meant about pincers and chains. Porthos was of the opinion that he had already suffered enough.

‘All is prepared sir,’ said Andre with another of his little sneers.

The preening assistant had spent his time approving of his master’s work and making obvious suggestions.

‘Let’s have him up and by the wall then but be careful not to pull any of the rings off,’ said the Comte with a vague gesture to the wall.

The men holding him down were now pulling him up and off the table. He did not fight them, he could not. They manhandled him into a standing position. He found himself able to stand, which surprised him, they forced him over to the wall of the cell. Each time one of the rings that adorned his body was knocked or the skin around the wounds was pulled he hissed and winced through his gag. His feelings of ineptitude and vulnerability were all-consuming, he could not think of a time previously when he had felt so humiliated. And he did not do anything to stop it from continuing. Porthos did not have the energy, he was exhausted, he submitted to the pain and allowed himself to be moved.

In the flickering light of the torches Porthos could make out many short thin chains dangling from the wall, they were covering the wall from about head height to the floor. With a sickening feeling, Porthos guessed what was going to happen next.

He was turned and his back was pushed against the cold stone wall.

‘Hold him still,’ said the Comte to the four men, ‘this takes a bit of precision.’

The men holding him pushed him into the wall harder. The Comte stood to the right side of Porthos, he was very close. Porthos could feel the man’s breath on him. One of the rings on his arm was lifted from where it lay over his skin, Porthos managed to look down at what the Comte was doing. He felt sick.

Vietto lifted one of the chains and hooked it over the end of the metal that formed the ring and slid it a little way around, the Comte held out his hand as Andre passed him a pair of jeweller’s pinchers. He clinched the end of the chain to the ring, then gave it a gentle tug to ensure the chain would not move. Porthos eyed up the dozens of rings that were now attached to his body. The implications of what was happening filled him with dread.

The short length of the chains that were being attached to the rings meant that he could not move. If he moved the chains would pull on the rings and the rings would pull on his skin. If he moved too much the rings would be pulled from his skin, ripping his flesh as they did so.

If he was left for any length of time chained to the wall, he would pass out either from the pain or fatigue. If he collapsed, he would be ripped to shreds as he fell. Porthos closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere else but there.

MMMM

The Musketeers were gathered closely, listening intently to Treville as he described his plan of attack. The intelligence the men had gathered during the morning had helped Treville work out how they were going to handle the situation. He knew the Comte would not be easy to arrest. He also knew they would be dealing with an unknown number of mercenaries. From what they had gathered there could be up to eighty men between the Musketeers and Vietto. Men who knew their way around the Comte’s estate and chateau.

Treville had decided an attack at night using the cover of the darkness was their best chance. They would approach unseen and attack en masse. Aramis was going to slip away as soon as he was able, to release Porthos. Treville would have liked to send two or three men with Aramis, but he knew that they could not be spared from dealing with the mercenaries. All the intelligence suggested that only one man would be guarding the dungeon. Treville had to hope that was true, he had given Aramis strict instructions to retreat if he was faced with more men. Getting himself hurt would not help Porthos. They hoped that Aramis and Porthos would be able to escape using the second door in the dungeon.

There were many unknowns, but Treville’s hand had been forced when Porthos had been taken. They would not leave a man to an unknown fate, even if they were outnumbered by the Comte’s mercenaries.

MMMM

As darkness fell, they crept closer to the chateau. A couple of Musketeers had been on a reconnaissance of the estate and it had been decided that approaching from the west was the best option. There was a line of trees that provided cover and then a wall would hide them until they were a few meters from the main building.

There were sentries posted around the property, they were all dealt with swiftly and quietly. They knew Vietto would be expecting an attack, but they hoped he would not be expecting it so soon.

They knew from the few people who had been in the chateau and lived to tell the tale that the mercenaries all lived in the main building. The chateau was large and could easily house the men and still allow the Comte to live in luxury. The few staff he kept on were believed to be loyal but would probably not pose an additional threat.

As they reached the chateau they spread out crouching down to keep out of sight as they passed the windows. The plan was to smash the windows and flood inside as quickly as possible. They had to use the element of surprise to their advantage.

Once they were in place, Athos moved a little way from the wall of the building so that most of the men could see him. He gave the signal.

As one, the musketeers attacked.


	4. Chapter 4

D’Artagnan clambered through the window after the first few Musketeers. He was towards the front of the house. They were in a large reception room. Grandly furnished, with a large mirror hanging over an impressive fireplace, the fire within burning well casting large shadows over the walls. But d’Artagnan did not have time to really take in the décor. His first job was to help Aramis work his way out of the room and into the hallway so that he could get down to the dungeon where they hoped he would easily be able to free Porthos.

They fought side by side, their swords clashing with two of the mercenaries. The men fighting them were skilled. They were clearly well trained and knew what they were doing, but d’Artagnan and Aramis were determined in their task. Gradually, they manoeuvred the pair they were fighting around until they had their backs to the open door.

They allowed the attackers to push them out of the room and into the impressive hallway. D’Artagnan glanced around. Skirmishes were occurring all around him, the fight was in full force. He spotted a door which he suspected would lead to the dungeon. After getting Aramis’ attention he nodded towards the plain door. Aramis acknowledged his friend and with a flourish finished off the man he was fighting. D’Artagnan managed a brief smile at his friend’s theatrics as he too killed the man in front of him.

Aramis ran to the door and pulled it open, he peered through briefly before turning back to d’Artagnan. Aramis nodded his thanks to his friend before disappearing.

D’Artagnan had no time to reflect, he was already fighting two more opponents. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of men. All the Musketeers nearby were fighting at least two men each. D’Artagnan wondered how the others were faring elsewhere in the chateau.

MMMM

Athos jumped down from the windowsill of the rear room, the men ahead of him were running through a door. They had entered an empty room which had not been the plan, it meant their element of surprise had gone. He could hear swords clashing beyond the door. Athos rushed forward to join his comrades.

He emerged into a vast room; it had probably been designed as a ballroom. But now, with the Comte recruiting so many mercenaries, the room had become a dormitory. Simple beds were lining each wall, and a long table ran along the middle of the room. Half-eaten meals scattered across the table were being knocked to the floor as Musketeer met mercenary in fierce battles that Athos was sure were being repeated throughout the chateau.

Two men rushed at Athos, he disposed of the first one with little effort, the second man had sized him up and fought hard. It was not long before another joined him, and Athos had to split his attention between the two. He had to constantly adjust his position so that the two men could not gain the upper hand by moving to either side of him.

Around him, he was aware of intense fighting. Worryingly he noted more men were entering the room and replacing any that were incapacitated or killed. Athos was pleased to see in his brief look about the room that none of his fellow Musketeers had fallen. He hoped that state of affairs would continue.

MMMM

It had not taken Aramis much effort to subdue the man guarding the cellar. The ugly thug had been drinking. A very brief fight between them had seen the man disposed of with ease. Aramis liberated the key to the door before pushing the dead man out of the way. He pushed the door open and after a last look up the stone, stairs stepped through.

Aramis searched along the dank corridor. A few flaming torches lit the way. He peered into each barred cell. All were empty. The last cell had a heavy-looking wooden door. A small barred window offering the only view inside. He looked in. Porthos was there, against a wall. Aramis guessed he was restrained somehow. He was standing, which was a good sign, Aramis thought.

‘Porthos,’ he said quietly, not wanting the sound of his voice to echo along the corridor.

Porthos looked over towards the door, Aramis could not make out his expression. His friend remained very still, other than moving his head. It was too dim in the cell to make out how Porthos was restrained.

The key he had taken from the guard by the door to the dungeon hit the edge of the keyhole on his first attempt to push it in. He took his eyes off Porthos and paid proper attention to opening the door. He had a little trouble heaving the door open, the hinges were quite stiff through lack of use. Porthos had been afforded a cell rarely used by the murderous Comte. The thought filled Aramis with worry. Porthos had made no sound and Aramis had heard no movement within the cell.

With the door open, Aramis threw a quick look over his shoulder, even though he was confident he would not be followed by any of the Comte’s men, he still felt the urge to check.

The cell was stuffy, stale and warm. There were no windows, the only light that would enter came from the small window in the door. There were brackets on the wall, within the cell, by the door for torches, so light could be introduced if needed.

Porthos still had not moved or spoken. As Aramis approached his friend he struggled to see in the gloom. He could make out that Porthos was naked and standing against the wall.

Aramis could not withhold a gasp of shock as he reached his friend. Porthos was clearly conscious, although Aramis could not see how. The Musketeer was gagged, which explained his silence, but the reason for his lack of movement made Aramis feel sick.

‘Porthos…’

Aramis rushed back out of the room and grabbed the nearest torch, returning as quickly as he could. He lit the tatty torch that had been left on one side of the door then slipped the one he was carrying into the empty bracket on the other side.

He returned to Porthos pulling out a knife as he did so. He quickly cut the rag that was being used to keep the gag in place then pulled the material from his friend’s mouth. Porthos tried to swallow a few times but was struggling. Aramis pulled a water skin from the bag that he had slung over his shoulder, dropping the bag to the floor at the same time. He held the skin up to Porthos’ mouth and allowed the man to take a few sips.

‘That will do for now,’ said Aramis, not wanting to give him too much water in one go, he took the skin away and laid it down on the floor. He stood back up slowly, unable to hide the repulsed look on his face as he took in the state of his friend.

‘I can’t move…’ Porthos said quietly, hoarsely.

Aramis could not reply. He was too choked up with contemplating what his friend must have gone through.

‘Please…’

Aramis looked Porthos in the eyes, ‘I’ll get you out.’

How he was going to free his friend he did not know. The more he saw of the restraints keeping his friend still the more he wanted to rush from the room and never return.

Covering Porthos’ body were dozens of metal rings about two inches across. They had been pushed through his skin, piercing deeply enough to catch hold. Short chains led from each metal ring to the stone wall. The chains were short enough to afford the Musketeer no movement. The chains were firmly in the wall, there was no chance of removing them.

‘How long have you been like this?’

‘They put the last one in a few hours ago… if feels like hours... I don’t know, it’s probably not as long as that.’

Aramis had been bent forward examining one of the rings closely. He stood up and stared, incredulously at the Musketeer.

‘You were conscious when they did this?’

‘Yes.’

Aramis shook his head, ‘I’m sorry… I,’ he paused, took a breath, and steadied himself, ‘let’s get you out.’

Aramis knew he had to set aside his own shock and try not to think about what Porthos had gone through. He had to concentrate on the present and getting him out of his torturous predicament. If Porthos had been standing still, for several hours, he would be exhausted. But if he moved, he would likely rip the metal rings from his skin, causing great pain and worse injuries.

The rings were not complete. There were small gaps in each one, a point on each end. The chains appeared to have been forced onto the rings, they were too firmly on the metal, Aramis could not simply slide the chains off to free his friend from the wall and then deal with the metal rings. The man must have been in extreme agony as each ring was pushed into his skin. Aramis wondered for a moment why Porthos had allowed it to happen. Had he been unconscious Aramis would have understood. But to allow it to be done to him whilst alert… Aramis pushed the question from his mind. That was for later.

Aramis stood straight and looked at his friend, ‘I think I can unhook the rings… it will probably hurt whilst I move them… are you ready?’

Porthos did not respond, he followed Aramis’ movements with his eyes. Aramis reached up to one of the rings, he picked one on Porthos’ right shoulder. He gently lifted the ring and slowly rotated it. Porthos hissed, Aramis paused.

‘Keep going…’

Aramis turned the ring enough to bring the small gap around to the flesh of his friend’s shoulder. The short chain clinking as it moved. He had to ease the gap in the ring over the pierced skin. Although he tried not to, the sharp point of the ring scratched across the outside of the injury.

‘Sorry… I don’t know how else to get them off.’

‘Keep going…’

As the ring came free Aramis let it go, it tapped harmlessly against the stone wall, dangling from the short chain. Aramis moved down to the next ring on Porthos’ arm. He repeated the process. Porthos held his breath as the ring was moved and the point again scratched his skin. The process was repeated again and again. Some of the rings were awkward for Aramis to get at, but he persevered.

There would not be time to clean and dress the wounds as he went, Aramis was conscious that he was working against the clock.

Once Aramis had finished removing the rings from Porthos’ arms he grabbed the water skin again and was about to hold it up to Porthos mouth when the Musketeer reached out and tried to take the skin. As he moved his arm Porthos let out a small whimper.

‘Careful,’ Aramis said keeping hold of the skin and guiding it to Porthos mouth, he allowed his friend a couple of mouthfuls then took it away again.

Porthos just looked at Aramis, his eyes were beginning to lose focus, he swayed slightly, Aramis grabbed him. He was not quick enough to prevent the man from crying out in pain as the movement pulled at the remaining rings that still covered his body and legs.

‘You must stay awake, Porthos…’

Aramis held Porthos’ shoulders firmly, waiting for his friend to refocus. It took the man a while, but he eventually settled and looked at Aramis with clearer eyes. He nodded.

‘Get them off me… just get them off.’

MMMM

As the fighting continued, Athos got the impression they were winning. But it was taking a very long time. He had seen Treville a couple of times as he made his way across the ballroom. They had managed to snatch a very brief conversation the second time they met.

Treville had said one word, ‘Aramis?’

‘Not yet…’ replied Athos as he thrust forward and impaled a blond-haired mercenary, ‘taking too long.’

Treville had nodded. They had planned for the eventuality that Aramis would run into trouble and not be able to release Porthos easily. Treville moved off helping a Hamon and Barbotin to finish off their opponents on the way, the Musketeers joined him as he worked his way out of the room.

Athos shouted the Musketeers left in the ballroom. They moved together, forming up and allowing the mercenaries to regroup as they worked their way out of the room. Most of the Musketeers kept the mercenaries busy whilst four men checked the way was clear as they left the room. It was not lost on the soldiers that the mercenaries would be coming at them from different directions.

By Athos’ rough calculations they had taken out half of the expected mercenaries. But it had come at a cost of at least four of their own men, Athos did not know how badly injured the fallen Musketeers were. Athos had seen two of the men fall soon after Treville had left and as they were backing out of the room two more were picked off as the mercenaries managed to reload their weapons and fire indiscriminately at the retreating men.

Once they reached the hallway, Athos shouted again. The Musketeers who had entered the Chateau from the front of the building rushed from the rooms they were fighting in. Athos was pleased to see the smaller groups of men appeared to have fared better than his group. All but three of the Musketeers were able to join up with the men working their way in formation back across the hall.

Athos caught a glimpse of d’Artagnan and two others fighting a group of six mercenaries. They were caught in a corner of the hallway, spilling into a smaller room.

There was nothing Athos could do to help his friend. He had to concentrate on the mercenaries’ intent on taking him and his comrades out.

MMMM

‘Get them off me… just get them off.’

Aramis did not need telling twice. He started with the ones on Porthos’ right leg. He again worked his way down turning each ring and gently easing it off. There was an obvious tremor in Porthos’ legs. Aramis knew his friend would not be able to stand for much longer. He was clearly in a lot of pain and had been through a horrendous experience.

Aramis sped up his actions as much as he could. The rings were not smooth, they were rusty and in places jagged. The particularly rusty ones were quite difficult to turn, the rough bumps catching on the skin of their prisoner. Aramis realised his own fingers were bloody, he had not noticed, he had caught his fingers on the sharp points of the rings and scratchy surfaces of the rusty ones. He wiped his hands on his breeches and returned to the task.

‘Where are the others?’

Aramis looked up at Porthos who was looking down at him. Aramis had knelt by his friend as he was removing the rings from his legs.

‘We came en masse, as planned. There was a lot of resistance. Treville ordered me to come and find you. We knew you were down here somewhere…’ he paused and looked over towards the door, ‘I don’t know why no one has come down here yet to look for us, I’d hoped to just release you from a cell, not have to...’

Aramis returned to his task, not wanting to finish the sentence. Somehow, he had forgotten the fierce battle that was taking place above them. He had become so absorbed in the onerous task of helping his friend he had neglected to update him about the events that had been happening since Porthos had been captured.

‘They’ll be alright,’ said Porthos.

Aramis smiled to himself, Porthos was trying to placate him. His friend, who had been through a horrific assault, was concerned about his rescuer’s welfare.

With renewed vigour, Aramis returned to his ministrations. He had managed to speed up a bit, he was aware that Porthos was near collapse, and Aramis did not want that to happen until he had removed the last ring.

Porthos’ legs were free, but the man still could not move. There were several rings still to remove from the sides of his torso. Aramis was glad that none had been put on his friend’s back, it would have been almost impossible to unhook them without causing pain.

He kept working. Five rings remained.

A noise out in the corridor made them both look towards the door. Porthos moved slightly and hissed with pain. Aramis steadied him as he rose.

Quietly Aramis moved to the door, his hand on the butt of his gun, he looked along the corridor. Two men were creeping along. They saw Aramis in the doorway and rushed toward him. Aramis stepped out of the stuffy cell pulling his gun as he did so.


	5. Chapter 5

D’Artagnan had a second objective. Once he had seen Aramis safely through the first room, he was to find the Comte and arrest him. Aramis had described the small, stout man as best he could. But the description was limited. Although d’Artagnan was sure he would have no problem picking the man out from the mercenaries. The mercenaries were all big strong man, so far he had seen no one that fitted Vietto’s description.

He was pinned in a smaller room with two other musketeers. Pierre, despite his earlier trepidation, was holding his own against two men whilst Edet was being kept busy by another two big men. D’Artagnan had just managed to stab one of the two he was facing with his main gauche. The second man he fought had been distracted by his fellow mercenary’s death and quickly followed him to his doom. Free of any opponents d’Artagnan was about to help Pierre when he noticed a small weedy man disappearing out of sight.

‘Go!’ yelled Edet, who had also spotted the stranger.

D’Artagnan nodded towards his comrades and ran after the man. He saw the slight man disappear through a door. Although he did not think it was the Comte, d’Artagnan was sure he was onto something.

He rushed through the door and found himself in the kitchens of the Chateau, clearly, the Comte’s need to have a dungeon below the building had led to a rearrangement of rooms.

A dull thud behind him caused him to turn quickly. The small man had slammed the door shut, he sneered at d’Artagnan before darting off out of the way. A scraping sound behind him had d’Artagnan turn again. The man he now faced was a little intimidating even for the trained soldier that d’Artagnan was.

The mercenary was big, he was bigger than Porthos, taller and broader. He was wielding a heavy-looking sword. His scarred face was broken open by a menacing grin. Behind the giant of a man, d’Artagnan could see the weedy man and another, who had to be the Comte, watching on with interest.

D’Artagnan realised, if he was to get to the Comte, he would have to go through the big mercenary first.

MMMM

As Aramis stepped from the cell, he pulled his gun. The two mercenaries that had been creeping along the wall of the corridor did not need to hide their approach. They charged at Aramis; swords drawn. Aramis did not hesitate in shooting the closest man, he went down, the shot penetrating his heart.

Before Aramis could pull out his other gun the second swordsman was on him. Fortunately, he was able to bodily push the man away, he yanked his own sword out and swung at his opponent. The man sidestepped with ease. Aramis realised he was fatigued from being stuck in awkward positions for so long unhooking the chains that were restraining Porthos. He also knew that Porthos was on the verge of collapse and he had to finish the fight quickly.

He pulled his main gauche and used it to parry the next couple of attacks from the mercenary. Getting into a rhythm he managed to push the man back a few paces. Their swords clashing loudly in the empty corridor. Aramis stepped around enough to push the man back against the bars of the adjacent cell, the man stumbled slightly then pushed forward in anger.

The mercenary clearly did not like the Musketeers’ tactics. The man was raging, he ran at Aramis and pushed into him throwing him to the floor, slicing his sword deeply into Aramis’ side. Aramis yelped at the contact; he pushed the man off him hard enough for the attacker to stumble backwards. As fast as he was able Aramis pulled his second gun and fired at the man just as he was advancing a second time.

MMMM

As Athos continued to rally his group of Musketeers, he realised Aramis had still not reappeared. He hoped that Treville was able to help their friends from the outside of the Chateau. There had been no sign of the Comte, Athos knew that d’Artagnan would be searching for the vile man, he had every faith in the young Musketeer to find his quarry.

The now smaller group of soldiers were backing up in the hallway. They were taking out the mercenaries as they went. Athos had the men rotating frequently to keep fresh men fighting the mercenaries as they advanced. Gradually the opponents were depleted. They were fairly evenly matched number wise. Athos knew they would have the upper hand.

They had worked their way towards the door that Athos guessed led to the dungeon. He had spotted Aramis disappearing through it earlier glimpsing the bare stone walls beyond. Athos pushed the door open and led the way down the stone steps. He found the body of the guard at the bottom of the steps, cleanly run through with a sword. It did not look like Aramis had needed to make much of an effort to deal with the man, a bottle of wine lay empty on the floor beside the body.

The door to the dungeon stood open. Athos and the Musketeers worked their way through the door. The remaining mercenaries taking advantage of the stairs to make a final push. Two more Musketeers were injured in the process, Athos managed to pull them out of the way. The two injured men were able to keep themselves standing but were leaning against the dungeon walls and could play no further part in the fighting.

Athos shouted at the men to keep in formation as he returned to the front of the fight, taking out another mercenary. He counted at least five more mercenaries than he had Musketeers to fight them. They were in danger of being overwhelmed. He redoubled his efforts and was rewarded with the disabling of two more mercenaries.

MMMM

Barbotin, who was a couple of strides ahead of Treville, rounded the corner of the building and ran straight into a lone mercenary who was just as surprised as the Musketeer. Barbotin recovered his wits first and punched the startled man hard to the jaw before he could draw a weapon. The man crashed, unconscious, to the ground in a heap. Treville grabbed the fallen man by the arms and helped Barbotin haul him out of the way of the outside entrance to the dungeon.

‘It’s supposed to only open from the inside…’ said Treville as he felt along its hinges with his gloved hand. He leant on the door with his shoulder pressed to it using his body weight to see how strong the door was.

‘We need a battering ram, something solid to hit it with,’ said Hamon looking around, as if expecting to find what he needed lying helpfully nearby.

‘Over there,’ said Barbotin, pointing towards a barn before heading in the direction he had pointed.

Treville and Hamon followed him. A pile of cut logs was pushed up against the side of the barn. Barbotin selected a stout uncut log and with Hamon’s help lifted it and carried it back to the door.

MMMM

_A few minutes earlier… ___

__Porthos had waited in silence for what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds. He had listened to his friend fighting in the corridor, he had heard the fight end but had no idea who had won. He could make out some harsh, gasped breaths then the sound of someone approaching the doorway._ _

__He let out a sigh of relief when Aramis appeared. But his relief was short-lived, it was obvious his friend had been injured, he was holding his left side and had been forced to lean heavily against the wall by the door. He looked across at Porthos and smiled._ _

__‘I got them both…’ he said, ‘but not before one of them got me.’_ _

__Aramis managed to stumble across to Porthos, who wanted to check on his friend but knew he could not._ _

__‘How bad?’_ _

__‘Bad enough,’ said Aramis with unusual candour._ _

__He took his hand away from his side, it was wet with blood. Porthos watched as Aramis knelt by his friend again, wiping the bloody hand on his breeches. He started working another ring free._ _

__‘We have to hurry, I’m not sure if we are winning upstairs. We have to get you out of here.’_ _

__Aramis was panting and despite the poor light Porthos could tell the man was pale. Porthos wanted to help, he could probably remove the final few rings himself but was worried he would collapse. He had to remain still whilst his injured friend worked._ _

__Another ring was removed, four to go._ _

__Again, they both looked around as crashing was heard outside. Aramis looked up at Porthos._ _

__‘Keep going.’_ _

__Another ring pulled out; Aramis’ hands were shaking with the effort. Porthos could tell he was struggling to remain conscious. More than once he had swayed, dangerously close to collapse. Porthos guessed the only thing keeping Aramis going was the need to rescue him._ _

__The noises continued, Porthos could tell the fighting was in the corridor outside, the noise was deafening after the silence he had been left in._ _

__There were only three rings left, but Porthos doubted they had the time. Aramis had slowed down considerably in his work, his normally dexterous fingers were moving slowly, he was becoming uncoordinated. Porthos was worried that they may need to leave very soon. His fears were confirmed a few seconds later when he heard Athos yelling._ _

__Aramis looked up at Porthos. Porthos knew what he wanted to do. Porthos knew Aramis did not want to do it, but they were left with no time. Porthos nodded and steeled himself for the pain._ _

__Aramis firmly grabbed the chain attached to one of the rings and yanked at it. Porthos yelled, he could not help it, the ripping of the flesh on his side was more painful than he had imagined it to be. His vision clouded; he was panting hard. But he did not pass out. He reached out his hand to Aramis who grabbed it._ _

__He nodded again and Aramis, with a distressed expression, grabbed the next chain. When Aramis pulled the ring from his flesh, he squeezed Porthos’ hand at the same time. Porthos did not cry out the second time, he had been ready for the pain. He was grateful when Aramis grabbed the final chain and just pulled it out with only a quick glance up at him for permission._ _

__Finally, free of the chains, Porthos sank to his knees. Aramis was by him, weakly trying to pull him up. Something in the back of Porthos’ mind told him to get up, to get out. To help Aramis, and himself. There was an urgency, they had to leave, and leave straight away._ _

__There would be time to collapse later, but at that moment, they both needed to get out. He made the effort, it was difficult, but he hauled himself back up. Aramis was holding him. Porthos was holding Aramis. Inwardly Porthos smiled at the laughable nature of Aramis’ rescue. His friend probably had a more severe injury than he did._ _

__Together, they stumbled to the door of the cell. Looking down the corridor they saw several Musketeers holding off a larger group of the Comte’s men. Athos looked around and saw the pair, his eyes widened when he took in the state of them. Porthos could not blame him, he was still naked, and Aramis was clearly badly injured._ _

__Athos regained his composure and indicated to a door at the end of the corridor, a few feet from where they were standing. As one, the two injured men made their way towards the door, which swung open as they approached. Barbotin and Hamon, who were holding a hefty battering ram, moved out of the way._ _

__They managed to make it through the door. Hands grabbing them as they emerged. Porthos felt himself pulled from Aramis’ grasp. He knew he was safe and surrendered himself to the darkness that had been threatening him for hours._ _

__MMMM_ _

__They had been fighting for a few minutes. The big mercenary was bringing his sword about in long cleaving strikes. He was not as quick as d’Artagnan who was able to dance out of the way with ease, but the sheer size of the man made it difficult for the young Musketeer to make any kind of offensive move. Each time he tried to attack, the man was able to block him with his parrying dagger, which could have been a small sword due to its size._ _

__D'Artagnan managed to glance around himself. He would have to use his surrounding to his advantage. His opponent needed space to swing his heavy sword, there were areas of the kitchen that would prevent him from doing so. That was where d’Artagnan needed to manoeuvre the man._ _

__He feinted to the right and then thrust quickly to the left of the man, surprised when the move actually hit its target. The mercenary was enraged at being hit by the smaller man. He swung around, taking a couple of steps forward as he did so. D’Artagnan stepped back again, the mercenary pulled his sword back ready to bring it over his shoulder in a large arc, holding d’Artagnan off with his dagger. But the man had not looked up, surprising considering his size, and did not see the hanging storage rack, with herbs and spices arranged along it. The heavy sword hit the rack, pulling it from the ceiling. The man was distracted, which was what d’Artagnan needed._ _

__A sharp jump forward, thrusting hard with his sword saw d’Artagnan piercing the man’s chest just below the ribs. On a man of equal height to d’Artagnan he would have been hit in the heart, but the giant was hit in the gut. D’Artagnan twisted his sword as he pushed it in. The mercenary staggered back, the weight of his sword and the tangled herb rack helping to topple the man backwards. D’Artagnan could not keep a grip on his own sword as the man fell, hard, to the floor._ _

__The man was not dead, he was trying to get up. Fortunately, for d’Artagnan, he still had a loaded gun, he wrenched it from his belt and fired at the big man, who crashed back down, he would not be getting up again._ _

__As d’Artagnan stepped forward to try and pull his sword from the thug’s stomach, he heard a step behind him. Quickly turning, his main gauche raised he met a heavy cooking pot which smashed into the side of his head, leaving him seeing flashes of white. He stumbled back, disorientated._ _

__As he fell against the wall, he became aware of two men approaching him. His vision was blurred, his world spinning. One of the men grabbed his main gauche and prised it from his uncooperative fingers. D’Artagnan tried to grab the man, but his arms were not doing what he wanted them to._ _

__Another man grabbed his arm and between them, the two dragged him across the smooth flagstones of the kitchen floor. D’Artagnan tried to get his feet under him but could not make them work. He found himself in another room. The fuzziness of his sight meant he was seeing two of everything. He tried to blink and shake his head to clear his vision. It worked, briefly, he was aware of being pulled over towards a gaping hole in the floor._ _

__Something in his mind told him to get away from there. He made a desperate attempt to fight the men off him. But was met with only a chuckle from one of them as he was dropped to the ground. He was on the edge of a slope the led to the hole. He knew he did not want to go where the men clearly intended to send him. He tried to get up, managing to reach his knees, with his back to the hole, he looked at the men. The short, stout one looked him back at him. D’Artagnan’s vision cleared long enough for him to see evil in the beady eyes. The man pushed d’Artagnan backwards._ _

__Arms flailing, he could not stop himself falling. He cried out in shock as he fell. He could not prevent it. He twisted to his side and tried to grab the lip of the sloping hole. It was not to be. He started to slide downwards._ _

__Scrabbling at the stones he could not find anything to hold on to. His fingers were cut and bleeding from the effort. He thought it odd, as he continued his journey that he should notice his fingers. His feet were over the entrance to the oubliette. D’Artagnan did not want to fall into it. He remembered what he had heard about the Comte’s favourite punishment._ _

__His legs were through, dangling as he made a last-ditch attempt to hold on, to anything. But there was nothing to hold onto._ _

__He fell._ _


	6. Chapter 6

The last man fell at the blade of one of the newly commissioned Musketeers. The rest of them looked on, most panting from the exertion, some bleeding from wounds the well-trained mercenaries had inflicted.

Athos knew there would be no time to rest, ‘search the house, check for any who are still alive and secure them. Keep in groups, I do not want any of you being cornered alone.’

The men moved off, Athos stopped a couple, pointing out their injuries and shaking his head. The two men were not badly injured but would need their wounds seen to.

‘Find a small room that we can use as an infirmary, get a fire going and gather any supplies you think we may need.’

Athos was thinking about Aramis and Porthos, he knew they would need to give them some immediate medical attention. He had seen the broken door at the end of the dungeon corridor and knew that they were, for the time being at least, safe, but they would be better off inside the chateau.

He was snapped out of his planning by a shout from the hall above. He hurriedly retraced his steps and climbed the stairs, feeling slightly fatigued from the long fight. As he emerged into the hall, he saw three Musketeers rushing out of the main door, he followed them.

The three soldiers stopped at the steps leading out to the impressive front lawns of the chateau. Just disappearing out of sight were two horsemen galloping away.

‘I think it was the Comte,’ said one of the men, ‘we weren’t quick enough.’

Athos shook his head, annoyed. They had missed the man they had come to arrest. There was nothing to be done, they could not mount a pursuit in time to ascertain where the two escaping men had gone.

Had it all been for nothing?

MMMM

Treville watched as both Porthos and Aramis were carried into the makeshift infirmary. The few other injured Musketeers had also been corralled into the room. Barbotin had recruited the other men who he knew could deal with the wounds.

Athos appeared beside the Captain.

‘The Comte and one of his men got away… I am sorry, there was no way we could catch him. We were too spread out when they made their escape.’

Treville nodded, ‘a shame.’

‘How many are wounded?’ asked Athos as he surveyed the room.

‘We lost two, unfortunately, there are several with minor injuries. Porthos has many superficial wounds, a few nasty injuries to his side… I cannot work out what happened to him. And Aramis has a bad wound to his side, he’s lost a lot of blood. They both passed out when we got them out of the dungeon. I think Porthos will be alright, but I’m worried about Aramis.’

Athos crossed the room to where Barbotin was stitching the wound Aramis had received. It was deep and still oozing blood. The unconscious man was deathly pale and breathing very shallowly. Barbotin looked up as Athos approached with Treville just behind him.

‘I’m not sure if we got to him in time.’

Treville rested his hand on the Musketeer’s shoulder, ‘do what you can son, it’s all that we ask… What about Porthos?’

Barbotin looked across at the still form of Porthos stretched out on one of the simple beds that had been moved into the room from the mercenaries’ dormitory. They had covered him in clean sheets taken from one of the guest bedrooms on the upper floor. They could see the series of wounds along each of his exposed arms. Treville remembered being very confused by the injuries when Porthos and Aramis had appeared in the doorway after it had been forced open. The small cuts covered Porthos’ body.

‘Most of the cuts are superficial. I think they are piercings… there are three wounds on his side that I dressed, I couldn’t stitch them, but they’re not bleeding much now… I can’t even begin to work out what they did to him.’

‘Keep an eye on them,’ said Treville.

‘Captain?’

Treville turned as Pierre hurried up to him and Athos, ‘yes Chevrier?’

‘I haven’t seen d’Artagnan for a while, he went after the Comte when we were still fighting… I… wondered where he was?’

MMMM

D’Artagnan tried to move again. He had tried several times but the pain in his ankle shot through him and left him paralysed. He screwed his eyes shut even though he knew when he opened them, he would not have much to look at.

He knew he had broken his ankle the moment he landed. He remembered screaming in pain and he remembered hearing laughter above him as his scream turned into a whimper.

The Comte had called down to him, mirth in his tone, ‘you survived the fall. Now you can continue to suffer. A fitting end to one of the Kings interfering Musketeers. No one escapes my oubliette… Goodbye.’

D’Artagnan was aware of laughter and the sound of Vietto and his man retreating. He tried to call out a few times, but his voice just seemed to echo around the oubliette. The room that was to be his tomb. Very little light reached to the bottom of the oubliette but d’Artagnan could make out the shape of several men littering the room. The previous victims had also survived the fall long enough to crawl to the walls and die slowly of hunger and thirst or perhaps quicker by succumbing to their injuries.

D’Artagnan wondered if he would have the strength to join them at the edge of the room.

He was sure he would not be found, and even if he were, how could he be rescued. He was doomed to die, and his last memory would be of that moment of freefall after his fingers lost contact with the edge of the stone.

MMMM

Porthos opened his eyes. He was staring at an ornate ceiling. He groaned and turned his head. He was in a room of the Chateau. The last thing he remembered was stumbling out of the dungeon clinging onto Aramis, unsure who was holding who up.

‘Don’t move too much,’ said Barbotin leaning over to put himself into Porthos’ vision, ‘you have injuries all over.’

‘I’m aware…’

Barbotin smiled, ‘here.’

The medic helped Porthos to sit up a little then handed him a cup of water keeping hold of the cup until he was certain Porthos would not drop it.

‘Thank you…’ Porthos looked over at Aramis lying on the bed next to him, Barbotin followed his gaze.

‘I stitched him up as best I could… I hope he approves of my work…’

‘But?’ asked Porthos worried when Barbotin trailed off.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood. I think we can only wait and see… I’m sorry.’

Porthos sighed, ‘he’ll be fine… he always is.’

Barbotin moved off to see to the other injured men who were scattered about the room. None looked too badly injured. Porthos’ gaze returned to Aramis, he wanted his friend to wake up, he looked so still, it was disconcerting. They had all been badly injured at one time or another, Porthos thought that perhaps they should be used to it. But they could not get used to it. They all knew the chances of one or more of them dying in battle were high. In a way, death on the battlefield would be a fitting end. But a lingering, drawn-out death was not something any of them would want. Would Aramis fade away, never regaining consciousness. Porthos had to believe that his friend would recover.

Porthos knew that concentrating on Aramis was taking his mind of his own injuries. His injuries were awkward but not as bad as Aramis’. The thing that was affecting Porthos the most was the time. The time he had spent pinned to the table as Vietto pushed each ring into this skin. The time he had spent being held against the wall as Vietto slipped each of the rings onto the short chains. And, perhaps worst of all, the time spent watching Aramis painstakingly removing each ring, forcing the metal back through his skin to free him from his torture.

Porthos had never felt so helpless.

MMMM

‘Where were you when you last saw him?’ asked Athos as he and Pierre worked their way through the rooms of the chateau, carefully checking behind pieces of furniture and anywhere a man could have fallen and not be immediately noticed.

Bodies lay where they had fallen throughout the Chateau. The living mercenaries had been moved to one room and were being guarded by a small band of Musketeers as transport to Paris was arranged. The dead were slowly being collected and moved out of the building. The whole chateau was active, it would be easy to miss an injured man amongst the chaos.

Athos and Pierre had been through all the rooms on the ground floor of the building. They had found no sign of d’Artagnan. They were making their way across the hallway again.

‘We were pinned in that room,’ said Pierre pointing at the room where Athos remembered seeing them fighting before he had led the men towards the dungeon, ‘then we saw a man disappear in there… we covered for d’Artagnan so that he could follow, but that was a long time ago now.’

They walked towards the room d’Artagnan had been seen entering. It was the kitchen. Pots and pans littered the floor along with the body of a big mercenary. Pierre stepped across and tugged d’Artagnan’s sword from the man’s stomach. He held it up so that Athos could see. They looked about them, d’Artagnan’s main gauche lay discarded a few feet from the body of the mercenary.

Pierre wandered over to a doorway leading into an empty room, he paused on the threshold. Athos noticed the young man shudder and walked up beside him.

‘You don’t think…’

They were looking at the sloping mouth of the Comte’s infamous oubliette.

‘Find Treville and some ropes.’

Pierre did not need asking twice.

MMMM

Treville took up the strain on the rope, he nodded to Athos as he leaned back and slowly edged down the sloping wall of the oubliette.

Treville checked over his shoulder and saw that Pierre and Hamon were firmly bracing themselves ready to take Athos’s weight when he reached the entrance to the underground cell. Treville did not particularly want to find d’Artagnan in the oubliette, but there had been no sign of him anywhere else. And the evidence of his participation in the fight in the kitchen led them to believe the young Musketeer may have been cruelly imprisoned by the Comte.

‘Slowly,’ said Treville as Athos reached the lip of the hole.

They slowly allowed him to lean back and peer down into the cell. It was obvious by his reaction d’Artagnan had been thrown into the oubliette. The room that housed the entrance to the oubliette was well lit, with several large openings in the walls, the light must have penetrated down to the cell below enough for Athos to see their missing man.

‘Lower me down… he’s lying on his side down there… not moving.’

Treville nodded grimly. He allowed Athos to descend into the oubliette.

‘What can you see?’

‘Bodies…’ Athos called back, ‘it looks like the victims have survived the fall and crawled to the edges of the cell… I can make out at least six men down here, the smell is almost overwhelming.’

The rope slackened as Athos reached the floor of the cell. Treville could make out Athos speaking softly, he was obviously trying to rouse d’Artagnan.

‘He’s alive,’ the swordsman said, his voice slightly muffled, ‘I think his ankle is broken, he must have hit his head, he is barely conscious… but it is not as bad as it could be… I’ve tied the second rope around him, but you will have to pull us both up together. I need to keep hold of him.’

‘Alright. We’re ready,’ said Treville after receiving nods from the two Musketeers with him.

The looks of determination on their faces told Treville that they would not let him down.

‘Pull us up.’

The added weight made it harder work, but the three of them valiantly worked together. Soon enough Athos and d’Artagnan appeared through the entrance to the cell, Athos managed to reach out a hand to steady them on the edge of the hole.

Two more Musketeers appeared in the room. One of them knelt by the slope whilst the other held him by his belt so that he could lean out and grab d’Artagnan when he was within reach. With little grace and a lot of scrabbling at the sloping stone walls, they manhandled the injured d’Artagnan out of the oubliette.

‘Thank you,’ mumbled d’Artagnan in a moment of clarity. It was clear he was struggling to remain conscious.

‘Get him to Barbotin, we need to get his ankle set,’ said Athos as Treville helped him to his feet. Pierre and Hamon helped carry the injured man out of the room.

‘Do you think he was conscious when they threw him down there?’ asked Athos as he dusted himself off.

‘I hope not,’ replied Treville as they followed their men from the room.


	7. Chapter 7

_The following morning… ___

__Porthos was sitting in one of the Comte’s carts. The Musketeers had liberated two carts to carry their injured comrades back to Paris. The covered cart was rattling along and Porthos watched sympathetically as d’Artagnan winced whenever the wheels hit a particularly bumpy patch of road._ _

__‘You could have stayed behind for another day,’ said Porthos._ _

__D’Artagnan blinked a few times before replying, ‘I didn’t really want to stay there any longer.’_ _

__Porthos nodded, he knew what had happened to the young Musketeer and had watched him suffer a restless night, despite his obvious head injury. Athos had sat with him throughout the night and, on one occasion, had to physically stop the injured man from falling out of his bed as he struggled against some unseen foe._ _

__‘It was horrible,’ said d’Artagnan quietly with a faraway look in his eyes, ‘I couldn’t stop myself from falling in there, it felt so slow… I wish the bang on my head had made me forget the fall.’_ _

__Porthos rested his hand on the young man’s leg, ‘I know how you feel.’_ _

__‘Sorry, I keep forgetting what you went through. My ordeal only lasted a few minutes, you were assaulted for hours and then left there.’_ _

__‘If Aramis hadn’t arrived when he did… I would have collapsed…’ Porthos looked across at the still form of his friend. Aramis had not stirred._ _

__‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. He doesn’t look as pale as yesterday.’_ _

__‘I know, I’m hopeful… You should try to sleep some more. I’ll be here.’_ _

__D’Artagnan nodded and leaned back against the side of the cart, he closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. Porthos wished he could sleep, but each time he closed his eyes all he could see was the Comte’s satisfied expression when he had finished attaching the last chain to the last ring and stepping back to look at him._ _

__Porthos was glad he had his friends around him. He knew that if he had been left in that cell if he had not died from his injuries, he might have gone mad. The pain and the terror he had felt was almost overwhelming._ _

__He looked across to Aramis who stirred a little. Porthos grabbed the water skin and shuffled across to him._ _

__‘Aramis?’ he said quietly, not wanting to wake d’Artagnan._ _

__His friend did not open his eyes, but he appeared to be conscious._ _

__‘You need to drink.’_ _

__Aramis was not completely awake, but he moved again slightly. Porthos lifted Aramis’ head up and held the water skin to his lips. He was pleased when his friend managed to drink a little. Porthos gently lowered Aramis’ head back down, brushing a few stray hairs away from his friend’s face. He smiled for the first time since he had been taken by the Comte._ _

__MMMM_ _

__The ride back to Paris had been tiring for them all. Despondent that Vietto had escaped, two of their comrades had died, and three more were badly injured, the Musketeers returned to the garrison._ _

__Amid the crowd of men, Athos found Treville._ _

__‘I’ve sent for Lemay. If it is alright, I will stay with them until he arrives?’_ _

__‘Of course. I’ll report to the Palace. The King will no doubt be furious that we have failed. We can regroup later.’_ _

__Treville dismissed him and headed up to his rooms. Athos crossed the garrison training ground to the infirmary. He knew only d’Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis would be there. The other injured Musketeers were well enough to be allowed back to their own rooms to convalesce._ _

__As he reached the door, he heard hurried footsteps behind him, he turned to see Lemay catching up with him. The doctor was flushed from his run, he greeted Athos with his usual friendliness._ _

__‘I really should just come and live here,’ said Lemay as Athos held the door open for him to enter, ‘all I seem to do is patch you four up. The King is nothing compared to you.’_ _

__Athos allowed a small smile as he entered the room. Aramis lay on a bed to his left, Porthos was sat in a chair next to his unconscious friend. D’Artagnan, who had either passed out again or fallen asleep was lying on a bed to his right with Barbotin busy checking the splint on his ankle._ _

__Lemay crossed the room to d’Artagnan and examined his ankle, he looked up at Barbotin who was still hovering nearby._ _

__‘I think you have done a fine job… tell me how they each fare?’_ _

__As Barbotin filled Lemay in on the assortment of injuries the three had Athos moved across to sit on the bed next to Porthos, who had found himself a job cleaning Aramis’ hands. In the hurry to deal with his more obvious wound his bloody fingers had been forgotten._ _

__‘He cut them when he was getting the rings off me… some of them were rusty,’ said Porthos as he gently wiped away the crusted blood from his friend’s fingers, ‘he kept going even after the fight, I didn’t know how badly injured he was…’_ _

__‘You were in no position to do anything about it,’ said Athos, trying to reassure Porthos who was in danger of becoming unusually maudlin._ _

__They had noticed how distracted and quiet Porthos had been since his rescue, Treville had told Athos to be sure their friend did not become too caught up with negative thoughts of his misadventure._ _

__‘When he pulled the last of the rings out, he looked so guilty… having to hurt me…’_ _

__‘He had to do it, and you know it… you did not have the time for him to ease the last of the rings off you. You said he came around briefly on the way back… he is pretty much back to his normal colouring… he is getting better.’_ _

__Porthos nodded as he finished his ministrations. Athos took the small bowl of water from him as Lemay walked across._ _

__‘D’Artagnan just needs time, the ankle will heal in a few weeks. His head injury already appears to be better from what Barbotin has said.’_ _

__Lemay crouched down beside Aramis and after pushing aside the blanket began cutting the bandage off his still body. Athos watched as Lemay checked the stitches to the nasty sword wound. Lemay smiled and looked across to Barbotin._ _

__‘He taught you well, I don’t think I could have done a much better job myself.’_ _

__Barbotin smiled, ‘thank you.’_ _

__‘I think we can manage without you Clemont,’ said Athos, ‘go and get some sleep, you have been up for hours.’_ _

__Barbotin nodded his thanks and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him._ _

__‘Now, Porthos, I need to check your wounds and they will no doubt need to be cleaned again,’ said Lemay as he and Athos redressed Aramis’ wound._ _

__Porthos sighed as Athos went to collect the items Lemay and he would need to clean up the multiple wounds that covered his friends’ body._ _

__MMMM_ _

__Athos had wandered over to d’Artagnan who had woken up again. Lemay stayed, perched on the edge of Porthos’ bed as he finished cleaning the wounds on the Musketeer’s legs._ _

__‘If you need to talk about what happened you should…’ said Lemay, pausing and looking up at Porthos, ‘not to me… unless you want to… but to one of your friends.’_ _

__Lemay glanced around the room at each of the other Musketeers. Porthos nodded. He had already spoken a little to both d’Artagnan, when he had been awake, and Athos._ _

__‘I have no intention of bottling it up… I think the thing that makes it easier is that Vietto is clearly insane.’_ _

__Lemay smiled, ‘from what I have heard I agree. He is, apparently, very proud of his oubliette. The Baron said that he would boast about it being his ultimate deterrent... d’Artagnan was very lucky.’_ _

__‘I was lucky… if the attack on the chateau had been much later, or Aramis slower in removing the rings and chains…’_ _

__‘Try not to dwell on it,’ said Lemay as he finished his work. ‘There, I know you are finding moving around fairly easy, but I would rather you stay in the infirmary, for now, I do not want the wounds to become dirty and infected.’_ _

__Porthos nodded. He did not want to leave the infirmary until Aramis was on the way to recovery anyway._ _

__Lemay packed his medical instruments away and, after another check on Aramis walked across to the door._ _

__‘I’ll return in the morning to check on you all.’_ _

__‘Thank you, doctor,’ said Athos. D’Artagnan nodded his thanks as Lemay left the room._ _

__Porthos leaned back on his bed for a few moments. He sat back up as Aramis stirred and swung his legs off the bed again, he eased himself into the chair between their beds to watch his friend._ _

__MMMM_ _

__‘You’ll pull the stitches, keep still,’ said Porthos._ _

__Athos watched as Porthos was about to help Aramis to sit up._ _

__‘And you will reopen your own wounds if you overexert yourself,’ Athos said sternly making his way across the infirmary._ _

__Porthos rolled his eyes but sat back again. Athos gave Porthos a warning stare as he helped Aramis to sit up._ _

__‘It took a long time to clean and dress all of your wounds, I do not want to deal with you getting an infection as well.’_ _

__‘What happened?’ Aramis asked as Athos poured him some water._ _

__‘The Comte had more men than we realised, it took us longer to defeat them. The last few managed to pin some of us on the stairs down to the dungeon. We held them off for as long as possible, to give you time to get Porthos out… I was honestly surprised to see the two of you still there when we were being forced back along the corridor.’_ _

__‘It took… longer to free him,’ Aramis said, looking at Porthos, ‘than I think anyone could have envisioned.’_ _

__‘And under difficult circumstances,’ said Athos, ‘I’m not sure how you carried on, didn’t you know how badly injured you were? You lost a lot of blood… we were worried you would not make it for a while.’_ _

__Aramis frowned, then looked back at Porthos, ‘I had a job to do.’_ _

__‘And I thank you for it,’ replied Porthos._ _

__‘Rest,’ said Athos as he turned to leave, ‘both of you.’_ _

__Athos returned to d’Artagnan’s side. The young Musketeer was watching the exchange. It was clear that Aramis would probably fall asleep again, he was obviously still very weak. Athos and Porthos had decided not to tell Aramis that the Comte had escaped or what had happened to d’Artagnan until he was stronger. They knew their friend would want to help before he was truly able, so denying him some of the details was better for him._ _

__Sure enough, a few minutes later the recovering Aramis was asleep. Porthos moved back to lying on his bed, satisfied that Aramis was getting better. Athos watched as the injured man settled back and finally fell asleep himself, although Athos was unsure how soundly his friend would sleep._ _

__‘Will he be alright?’ asked d’Artagnan quietly, indicating Porthos._ _

__‘Yes, he won’t bottle it up. He’s already talked a bit. You two should both talk about it.’_ _

__‘We have, a bit…’ said d’Artagnan, stifling a yawn._ _

__‘I’ll leave you alone,’ said Athos sensing he was not needed in a room of three sleeping men. He realised he could do with a break himself. He walked across to one of the spare beds and stretched out, within minutes he too was asleep._ _

__MMMM_ _

__Aramis had been awake for some time. When he had realised his three friends were all soundly asleep, he had decided to remain where he was so as not to disturb them. Having been unconscious and sleeping for some time he found himself wide awake. And a bit hungry. But he knew he would need help getting food so contented himself to the water by his bed._ _

__Fighting back a whimper he managed to push himself into a sitting position. His side screamed with pain at the movement, but after a couple of minutes, he managed to calm his breathing and reach out a shaking hand to the cup of water by his bed. He drank the cool liquid greedily. He knew he had lost a lot of blood and needed to replace the fluids._ _

__Something caught his eye across the room. D’Artagnan was moving. He was not awake, but he seemed to be in distress. Aramis wondered what had happened to d’Artagnan. Aramis guessed he had been injured during the fighting in the Chateau. His ankle was splinted. An odd injury to obtain during the battle, Aramis wondered if he had fallen._ _

__Regardless of the cause of his injury, the young man was clearly in distress. With the others sleeping soundly Aramis realised he was the only one who could offer comfort. He did not want to wake the others as they were clearly both exhausted and needed their own rest._ _

__Slowly Aramis swung his legs off the bed. He took a steadying breath then hauled himself upright. The stitches pulled slightly but by breathing shallowly he kept the pain at bay. He padded around the bed where Porthos lay and crossed the gap between his bed and d’Artagnan’s._ _

__The injured man was still moving about, he seemed to be trying to grab at something above him. He was moaning quietly._ _

__‘D’Artagnan.’_ _

__The dreaming man did not respond, Aramis slowly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached out and gently took hold of his friend’s shoulders. For some reason, the action seemed to make the dream worse for d’Artagnan who thrashed about pushing at Aramis._ _

__‘D’Artagnan, calm down, it’s alright… you’re safe,’ said Aramis a little more firmly._ _

__His words did not placate the confused man, he pushed out at Aramis who, in his still weakened state, could not prevent himself from being knocked backwards. He fell awkwardly, unable to hold in the yelp of pain as he hit the ground. He looked down at the bandage around him and realised at least some of the stitches had been pulled as blood began to stain the white of the fabric._ _

__He looked up at d’Artagnan who had been woken by his cry of pain._ _

__‘What happened?’ d’Artagnan asked, his confusion obvious._ _

__MMMM_ _

__‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ asked Athos as he crouched next to Aramis, who was panting._ _

__‘You were… sleeping… I thought I could help…’_ _

__‘Well you did not,’ admonished Athos._ _

__Porthos was on Aramis’ other side propping him up. He looked at Athos and rolled his eyes._ _

__‘I keep saying he needs tetherin’ when he’s injured or sick.’_ _

__Aramis managed a chuckle between breaths. D’Artagnan was looking on worried._ _

__‘I’m sorry, I didn’t…’_ _

__‘You’ve nothing to apologies for… he brought this on himself,’ said Porthos firmly._ _

__Between them, Porthos and Athos helped Aramis up onto Porthos’ bed. Porthos manoeuvred himself to sit behind his friend, who leaned back on him without complaint, any energy he had depleted again. Athos cut off the bandages and assessed the damage._ _

__‘It could be worse,’ he said, eyeing the contrite looking Aramis._ _

__Athos busied himself collecting what he would need to re-stitch the wound. Porthos held Aramis firmly, with Aramis conscious it would not be as easy a job to put the stitches in._ _

__Athos glanced up at Aramis and Porthos who nodded. Aramis tried not to react to the stitches but could not help himself. Porthos held onto his arms to prevent him from interfering. Aramis was panting and sweating by the time the last stitch had been replaced. He had not passed out but was not far off._ _

__‘Can you manage a drink?’ asked Athos._ _

__Aramis nodded and tried to reach out to take the cup from Athos, but his hands were shaking too much. Porthos smirked._ _

__‘Let me help you, you idiot,’ said Porthos shaking his head. He took the cup from Athos and held it to his friend’s lips._ _

__A knock on the infirmary door drew their attention._ _

__‘Yes?’ said Athos raising his voice._ _

__When the door did not open, he sighed and stood up crossing to the door._ _

__‘Probably some terrified cadet,’ said Porthos quietly, making Aramis chuckle and wince at the movement._ _

__Athos opened the door and almost immediately staggered back crashing to the floor unconscious. The other three Musketeers stared in shook as the Comte and one of his men entered the room._ _


	8. Chapter 8

The small weedy man had a gun trained on Porthos and Aramis who were both still sat on Porthos’ bed. Vietto was glaring at d’Artagnan a dagger in his hand.

‘No,’ said the small man as Porthos made to speak, ‘you make a noise, you die.’

Aramis noticed that d’Artagnan had paled and despite his injury had moved as far away as he could pressing himself up against the wall. He was also aware of Porthos tensing behind him, either with anger or fear, Aramis could not tell. He wondered if Vietto was responsible for d’Artagnan’s injury as well as Porthos’.

‘No one has ever escaped my oubliette. You were supposed to die down there,’ the Comte said as he stared at d’Artagnan, who had regained his composure a little and was glaring back.

Aramis, who was thinking clearly for the first time since he had fallen and pulled his stitches, realised d’Artagnan was the one in danger. He did not know the full details of what had happened at the chateau, but it was clear the Comte was a threat to the young man. He was in no shape to assist his friend, due to his injury and Athos was unconscious, sprawled across the floor. That left Porthos, who, although sporting many injuries, was the most mobile of them at that time.

But, for Porthos to help they needed a distraction, Aramis realised he was the one who had to make it.

He scrambled up and lunged at the weedy little man with the gun. The man fired the gun, Aramis hoped the shot would miss him. It did not. Pain radiated out from his left arm as he collapsed to the floor, landing on Athos’ still form. The stitches in his side ripping again as he fell.

MMMM

The Comte was moving towards d’Artagnan who had nothing to defend himself with. Only Athos was armed, and he was lying unconscious on the floor. D’Artagnan was watching the Comte closely. Porthos knew he had to do something, but what? Then Aramis did the only thing he could do, he moved to distract Andre who was still wielding a gun. As Aramis moved towards Andre the weedy man fired. The shot made the Comte stop and turn. Aramis fell to the floor with a fresh wound to his arm. A lighting assessment of the injury told Porthos that, although bad, would not prove fatal, and could be left untreated for a little while, he could concentrate on helping d’Artagnan.

Porthos moved quickly, he grabbed Andre and threw him bodily to the floor, leaving him stunned. He then tried to reach the Comte before the Comte reached d’Artagnan. He was not quick enough. A struggle between d’Artagnan and Vietto was already taking place. Although the Comte was clearly not a fit man, he was in better health than d’Artagnan. The man had managed to pin d’Artagnan back down onto the bed and was trying to thrust his dagger into the young man’s chest. D’Artagnan was using one hand to try to push Vietto away and the other was wrapped around the Comte’s hand in an attempt to deflect the dagger.

Porthos grabbed the Comte from behind. But the man was stronger than he looked, perhaps through determination, and Porthos found himself struggling to pull him away.

They all paused when a second gunshot sounded.

MMMM

D’Artagnan was not in a good position to be dealing with the attack, although he did not think any position was good for dealing with a crazed man with a dagger. The man was clearly deranged, his eyes were wild with fury. Surviving his plunge into the oubliette had clearly upset the evil man.

Under normal circumstances, fending off an older man with a dagger would probably be relatively easy, but he was weak and in pain and lying on his back. When Porthos loomed into sight above the Comte, d’Artagnan was relieved. But he quickly realised Vietto was determined and Porthos was not having an easy time trying to remove the danger. Porthos was carrying his own injuries and was not at his usual strength.

The gunshot made them all pause. Something fell to the floor behind Porthos.

D’Artagnan managed to move the Comte’s hand away from him as Porthos, using the distraction, finally managed to whirl the man around and shove him away, into the wall of the infirmary. The man stumbled back, dropping the dagger to the floor as he fell.

D’Artagnan looked across the room and saw a very pale and panting Aramis lying awkwardly on the floor, Athos’ guns still in his hand. At Porthos’ feet lay the man who had been with the Comte, a knife still clutched in his dead hand. D’Artagnan realised the man had been trying to stab Porthos and Aramis had managed to shoot him.

Movement by the wall made him look towards Vietto who was trying to regain his footing. A scrape of metal and movement from Aramis drew d’Artagnan’s attention back. Aramis had managed to wrangle Athos’ sword from his belt and held it up with a very shaky hand to Porthos.

Porthos took the sword and turned back to the Comte threateningly, although d’Artagnan detected a shake in the Musketeer’s arm. The actions of the last few minutes were taking their toll on the still injured man.

MMMM

The door to the infirmary burst open, Treville, sword drawn, rushed in with several Musketeers in tow. He stopped, stunned, as he took in the room and the positions of the various men within.

Porthos was standing in the middle of the room a sword held out in front of him pointing at a well-dressed stout man who was huddled by the wall. At Porthos’ feet lay the body of a slight man who might have been in the employ of the man being kept by the wall by Porthos.

D’Artagnan was sat up in his bed, he was panting and dishevelled, he looked shocked.

Athos was flat on his back, apparently unconscious, on the floor. Aramis was lying across Athos’ legs blinking hard and breathing quickly, clutching his bleeding side with his bleeding arm.

Treville realised he had not moved for several seconds as he took in the scene before him. He quickly stepped forward and brought his own sword up to point at the rich man relieving Porthos, who took a couple of stumbling steps and sat heavily on the edge of d’Artagnan’s bed.

‘Is this Vietto?’ asked Treville.

‘Yes,’ said d’Artagnan from behind him.

‘Get him out of here, straight to the Chatelet… I want two men guarding him at all times,’ Treville barked at the men who had followed him into the infirmary.

Vietto was bundled out of the room. The body of the other man quickly followed. Treville turned back to the others. Porthos had recovered enough to move to Aramis’ side. The injured man was barely conscious, his stitches had clearly been pulled by the recent activity. Treville helped Porthos to move Aramis back to his bed. He had passed out by the time they had laid him down.

Treville looked at Porthos for a few seconds before glancing at d’Artagnan. Both men looked shocked but there was also a sense of relief. He realised with the Comte’s capture they would see justice done for the horrific manner they and countless others had been treated.

MMMM

Athos groaned and slowly opened his eyes. D’Artagnan smiled at him.

‘What happened?’

It took d’Artagnan a few minutes to fill Athos in on what had happened after he opened the door and was knocked out by the hilt of the Comte’s sword. He looked over to Aramis’ bed, Porthos was stitching the wound on Aramis’ arm whilst Lemay was dealing with the sword wound. The pale, unconscious, soldier was oblivious to the ministrations.

‘Is this a record for him, getting the same injury tended to by three people?’ asked d’Artagnan.

‘Probably,’ said Athos as d’Artagnan helped him to sit up.

Athos looked across to the door as Treville pushed it open. The Captain nodded a greeting as he entered.

‘The King is pleased that we now have the Comte in custody. He even had no issue with me sending him straight to the Chatelet,’ he said as he cast an eye over his men, assessing their various states of health.

‘What about his tenants?’ asked d’Artagnan.

‘Baron Doubey, will take them on. He asked me to pass on his thanks to you for capturing Vietto.’

‘He came to us, we didn’t capture ‘im,’ said Porthos as he finished the last stitch on Aramis’ arm. ‘How did he get in here anyway?’

‘I believe he slipped in when we returned. They must have been hiding, waiting for an opportunity to get in here when there were fewer people around,’ replied Treville, ‘I think the King intends to use his position to get the man hanged very soon.’

‘Hanged?’ asked Athos. ‘Not a befitting execution for a nobleman.’

‘By the time he is hanged Vietto will no longer be a Comte, he will have been stripped of his title. The King will make sure it happens; he can be… persuasive… when he needs to be.’

‘Or he’ll throw a tantrum until he gets ‘is way,’ muttered Porthos.

‘More than likely,’ said Treville with a slight smile.

MMMM

_A few weeks later… ___

__Quite a crowd had gathered. The day was pleasant, warm with a clear sky. Hangings always drew a crowd, but word had been spread that this was a little different. The man to be hanged was of noble birth. D’Artagnan found it distasteful, that people would flock to see someone die._ _

__He was still walking with a stick, his ankle not fully healed. Athos walked next to him. Aramis and Porthos were walking behind talking quietly._ _

__‘You do not have to witness the execution,’ said Athos._ _

__‘I know, but I want to be reassured that he’s gone.’_ _

__‘Have you been sleeping better?’ asked Athos, who had not seen much of them for the last few days._ _

__‘Yes, the dreams have stopped, I think Porthos had a harder time, he didn’t want to admit it, but he struggled to get to sleep to start with.’_ _

__D’Artagnan glanced back at the two behind them. After Vietto had been captured Porthos had spent several days unable to sleep until, finally exhausted, he had passed out on the bed next to Aramis’. He had slept solidly for a day. When he awoke Aramis, who had still been slowly recovering from his own injuries, had patiently listened when Porthos talked about the torture he had endured. D’Artagnan still believed he had been the lucky one of the two of them, although horrific, his torture had lasted minutes, Porthos’ had lasted for hours._ _

__They found a spot towards the back of the crowd and watched as the guards brought their prisoner forward. The Comte was dressed smartly, he clearly still thought of himself as a nobleman. He walked nonchalantly towards the gallows, and took each step slowly, drawing out the time he had left._ _

__D’Artagnan glanced to his right, Porthos, his face hard with repressed emotion, was shaking slightly. Aramis had reached his arm across his friend’s back and rested his hand on his shoulder, a sign of solidarity. Porthos took a deep breath and nodded to Aramis who smiled reassuringly._ _

__Athos’ repeated Aramis’ move with d’Artagnan who had not realised that he too was shaking. He hoped that knowing that the man who had tortured them and been a tyrant to his people, was dead would help him to put the whole affair behind him. Even though he was almost fully recovered physically and was sleeping well, there was still the nagging doubt that as long as the man was alive he would return to finish the job._ _

__But that was about to change._ _

__The noose was slipped over Vietto’s head, the priest finished his prayer and made the sign of the cross. The hangman performed his task, the crowd cheered._ _

__Vietto was dead._ _

__D’Artagnan let out a breath, he turned with the others and walked silently away._ _

__The End_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos.


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